


Castaway and Found Again

by Yelhsabeech



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Blood and Injury, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Coming Untouched, Crowley Has a Praise Kink (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Desert Island Fic, Dogs, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gentle Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Gentle Sex, Human, Human Aziraphale (Good Omens), Human Crowley (Good Omens), Humor, Injury Recovery, Living Together, Love Confessions, Love at First Sight, M/M, Mild Angst, Mutual Pining, No beta we fall like Crowley, Oral Sex, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), POV Crowley (Good Omens), Pillow Princess Crowley (Good Omens), Possessive Aziraphale (Good Omens), Possessive Crowley (Good Omens), Possessive Sex, Praise Kink, Romance, Service Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Single Parent Crowley (Good Omens), Slow Burn, Soft Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Sweet, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Touch-Starved Crowley (Good Omens), Virgin Crowley (Good Omens), like SO touch starved, past trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:28:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26494882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yelhsabeech/pseuds/Yelhsabeech
Summary: In a Singles-Cruise gone awry, sweet, bumbling Aziraphale is caught in a storm and ends up washed up on a deserted tropical island. Or at least he thinks it's deserted, until he's rescued by a beautiful stranger and his son.As time goes by, Aziraphale's love for the father and son only grow. But so do his questions; how did Crowley get here? How long was he alone? What happened to Warlock's mother? Could Crowley possible love him back?Most importantly, will Aziraphale have the strength to leave once rescue finally does arrive?
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 181
Kudos: 205
Collections: Courts GO Re-Reads, Good Omens Human AUs, Top Aziraphale Recs





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello loves! This is a story that has been brewing in my brain that I haven't quite finished. If you guys like it and want me to finish it, I can finish it and start a weekly posting schedule. This will probably be the longest fic I have ever written! This is also my first time writing Top Aziraphale, and it's been a lot of fun!
> 
> The cast-away concept was definitely inspired by CandyQueenAO3 and her work Saltwater on Skin. It's a BEAUTIFUL fic if you like Naga Crowley. Everyone in my fic is very much human though, I hope you like it!

Aziraphale was trying to enjoy himself, he really was. He was an old fuddy duddy who needed a change in his routine. All the same, he couldn’t help but miss his comfy chair back at his shop, his favorite tea mug, and the idea of settling down for the evening to the challenge of restoring a new rare book he acquired for his personal collection. 

He never wanted to go on this venture to begin with, but he promised Uriel and Michael that he would at least try to have fun when they forced the ticket on him. What on earth had they been thinking when they sent him on a singles cruise of all things? What possessed them to think that a chubby, pale, middle aged Brit prone to seasickness would fare well stuck on a boat in the Caribbean sunshine?

He sighed to himself; he was actually perfectly aware of what possessed them and he knew he couldn’t stay mad at them for it. He had been trying to hide how lonely he was for a long time, and doing a rather good job of it if he said so himself, but his sisters were far too observant and interfering for their own good. 

As kind as their intentions were however, Aziraphale felt so awkward and out of his element that he couldn’t wait for the whole experience to be over. He had always been plump, old fashioned, and never the adventurous type, preferring quiet nights inside reading over meeting people in clubs and pubs. 

He grew up privileged and doted on as the youngest boy in the family. When their parents passed when he was seventeen, they had left a sizable inheritance that would have allowed him to retire in his twenties and live comfortably for the rest of his days. Instead of retiring Aziraphale pursued his joy, collecting old books, and very, very occasionally selling them. 

Now at fifty, he could say with complete confidence that he was rather blessed. His older sisters both married and had children, so he had a gaggle of nieces and nephews to spoil, as well as regular family dinners. He didn’t need romance; he was perfectly happy as things were.

At least that’s what he told himself, especially during chilly nights, when he used a hot cup of tea and Wilde as a way to distract himself from not having another person to cuddle up next to for warmth. But being gay wasn’t always socially acceptable, even downright unsafe at some points in the 70s and 80s, so he had just gotten used to keeping that part of himself hidden. Now that he was older and well past what would arguably have been his ‘prime’, he wasn’t even sure how one would even go about dating at his age. 

As he watched the sunset off the dock of the cruise ship, Aziraphale allowed himself to admit that somewhere deep inside his heart, he did want someone to call his own, a family of his own. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t put up as much of a fight as he could have when Michael and Uriel ambushed him with this cruise ticket as a birthday present. But so far it had been just short of a disaster; he had been seasick most of the journey and the people he did manage to meet were alright fellows, but not what he was looking for. Although to be fair Aziraphale didn’t know what he was looking for either. 

An announcement through the speakers pulled Aziraphale from his pity party. 

_ “Attention passengers, we are coming into an unexpected tropical storm. Please procure a life-jacket and retreat indoors for the time being. Thank you for your cooperation.” _

And sure enough, Aziraphale could see the storm clouds billowing to the east of the ship, and the wind had dropped in temperature, carrying the smell of rain. He turned around and accepted the life jacket one of the staff members were handing out with a smile before heading to his room. 

He felt around in his pocket and discovered his room key was missing. Again. 

“Oh bother!”

He really, _really_ didn’t want to go to the front desk to explain he had lost the key for the 4th time. Perhaps if he retraced his steps he would find it. 

Aziraphale turned around and went back on the deck, surprised to see how quickly the weather had worsened in the span of just a few minutes. After a few moments of searching the deck, he concluded with a sigh that it must have fallen into the ocean.

As he turned around to head back inside, the boat suddenly pitched sharply to the right as it crashed into the wave. The abrupt shift knocked Aziraphale off balance and was hurled off the railing before he could even grab anything to keep him anchored. 

For what felt like hours all he was aware of was the harsh taste of salt water, and the roar of the ocean in his ears. The life-jacket did it’s job and kept him floating towards the surface, but the storm's turbulent waves still had him struggling to keep his head above water as he floated, entirely at the mercy of the sea. Every time he managed to break the surface he tried to scream, twisting around looking for the ship and watching it getting smaller and blurrier as it continued into the horizon. Soon he was forced to focus all his energy in staying above the surface instead of watching his best chance for survival sail away without him. 

When the waves calmed and the storm passed, dusk had come and gone into twilight. Aziraphale whipped his head around looking for something,  _ anything _ and paused when he saw what appeared to be a large dark mass in the distance. 

It was hard to tell if it was land, a large rock, or floating debris. But regardless he was already exhausted and a surface to rest on sounded lovely, so he began to paddle towards it. 

Over the course of a few hours, the mass grew bigger and he determined it was some sort of island. When his feet finally did touch the ground he laughed with a combination of relief, exhaustion, and delirium as he finally dragged himself on the sand. 

Aziraphale tried to stand, he really did, but hours of kicking through the water had turned his legs into jelly, and they trembled violently when he tried to bear weight on them. He settled for a crawl, just managing to drag himself up onto the beach, just past the treeline before his arms gave out and he passed out on the most comfortable patch of dirt he had ever encountered.

*****

When he came to, for a brief, absolutely blissful moment, he convinced himself that he had just been dreaming. That the last 12 hours were the result of some badly cooked lobster paired with terrible wine. That all came crashing down when a bird somewhere nearby squawked loudly enough for Aziraphale to jump, his eyes rushing open and immediately squinting shut again at the brightness of the sun. He pulled himself into a sitting position, and whimpered at the pain in his muscles, cursing himself for being so out of shape. As his eyes adjusted to the day, he took stock of his person and surroundings. 

From what he could tell, he was tired and sore, but miraculously didn’t have any other injuries. He used a nearby tree to pull himself to his feet and looked around. The environment was beautiful, lush and green and already getting hot and humid. He realized he wasn’t sweating very much, and made it a priority to find water before he thought of anything else. 

“Ok Aziraphale,” He winced at how raspy his voice sounded. “Let’s find some refreshment.”

He was rather anxious about going too deeply into the jungle, so he stayed in sight of the beach as he looked for something that could be used to carry water. When he paid closer attention though, he could see the rain water from last night’s storm had pooled into several of the large lush leaves. Very carefully, he tipped the leaf forward, letting the water fall into his mouth. 

He repeated the action several times with leaves around him, careful to avoid swallowing any bugs and debris that had fallen from the trees. He stopped when he could feel the liquid sloshing around inside him, and he was fit to burst. Aziraphale quickly realized he needed a plan of action if he was to have any hope of getting off this island. 

He looked around, trying not to despair as he realized he had no earthly idea how to survive in the wild. He knew the basics of course, the need for fire, food, and shelter, but he was clueless on how to obtain those necessities. 

Aziraphale took a moment from his panic to admire the scenery around him as a distraction. It was a lush, tropical island, in fact it would probably make a lovely getaway if his circumstances weren’t so dire. 

_ Wait a moment. That’s it! _ Surely this island had to be inhabited, humanity has done such a good job of spreading to every corner of the earth, so there simply must be some resort or other inhabitants on the island. He just needed to find them. 

“Come on old boy think. What’s the best way to go about finding other people?”

Like a sign, Aziraphale’s eyes were drawn to the highest point of the island. To be fair it wasn’t very high, perhaps 100 yards or so above the rest of the land; but if Azirpahale could get to the top of that hill, he may be able to see some buildings, or at least a fire indicating another person. 

Feeling much better now that he had a plan, Aziraphale began walking in the direction of the hill. 

As he traveled, Aziraphale couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. Whenever he would turn around however, he was met with the silence of the forest and a feeling of foolishness. Not to be deterred, he reached the bottom of the hill and began climbing the steep incline. 

After what felt like hours, Aziraphale, finally, finally reached the apex of the small mountain, he settled down, looking in every direction as he rested from the climb. All he saw was tropical greenery, and beyond that, the ocean. He didn’t see any signs of buildings, or any other life for that matter.

He was just about to give up when he saw something that stopped him in his tracks. Towards the east of him, he could see a small coil of smoke rising into the air. That had to mean something right? 

In his focus on the smoke, Aziraphale failed to notice how unstable the ground was beneath him, and as he approached the edge of his small cliff to examine the smoke more closely, his stomach dropped at the same time the ground dropped beneath him; soft and unstable from the previous night’s rain. Before he knew what was happening, Aziraphale was tumbling down a steep incline, full of rocks and mud. 

When Aziraphale hit the ground, he felt the air rush out of his body and heard a loud crack. He couldn’t hear anything beyond his heart pounding in his ears, he tried to stand and realized he couldn’t. He looked down and saw far too much red then he would have liked to see leaving one leg and oh dear he really didn’t think his other leg was supposed to be bending that way…

*****

When Aziraphale drifted back into consciousness he first felt surprise that he was alive; that surprise began to curdle into fear and dread when he felt the pain shooting through his now immobile legs. Panic made him shoot into a sitting position, and he clapped a hand over his mouth as nausea threatened to overwhelm him and every muscle in his torso screamed in protest at the sudden movement. 

He cradled his head in his hands for a moment before looking up and taking in his surroundings. He was in an enormous cave. He could hear water flowing somewhere behind him in the cavern, and it was clear it was inhabited.

Instead of being cold and damp like he expected a cave would be, it was dry, and surprisingly... homey. Several natural rock ledges worked as shelves for handmade oil lamps that gave off a floral scent, and the way they were placed throughout the cave gave the whole space a twinkling appearance. Several yards from the entrance where Aziraphale was resting, the ground had blankets and animal skins softening the rock floor. 

Aziraphale looked down at his legs to see the leg he had landed on strangely was bound into something that resembled a tourniquet; it wasn’t bound tightly, but it was set straight and made immobile by two flat pieces of thick bark on either side of his leg. The other one was wrapped in cloth bandages. He had been stripped down to his underwear and his undershirt. 

So now he knew that he wasn’t alone on this island. But that still didn’t solve the mystery of their intentions. That was probably something he should have considered earlier. “H-hello?” Aziraphale called out in a trembling voice. “Is anyone here?”

He was just starting to think he was in fact alone when shuffling towards the back of the cave. Before he could turn around and look however, he felt something  _ touch _ his shoulder. Without thinking he shrieked, and screamed louder when the thing touching him also started screaming and stumbling back. Any noise died in his throat as soon as he got a good look and saw that his attacker was… a baby?

Yes, a baby boy, wearing nothing but a necklace made of seashells screamed and stumbled backwards in surprise. He looked to be around 2.5 years old, and despite being a little dirty and naked, he looked surprisingly well cared for. He was chubby and adorable, as all babies should be; his eyes were clear and his cheeks were pink. The baby stared at him with brown eyes, wide in shock and fear, before he burst into tears, clearly frightened of Aziraphale.

He was flooded with guilt and instinctively he tried to sooth the child. His caregiver instinct focused completely on the baby and he totally missed the other individual that had entered the cave. 

“Oh I’m so sorry darling.” He tried to reassure the little one over the loud crying, “It’s ok, you’re alright..”

“Warlock.”

Aziraphale startled and looked up at the direction of the new and deeper voice to see a tall, lean man, standing at the entrance of the cave. He assumed the man must be the boy's father, coming to investigate the crying. Instead of looking angry or even concerned however, the man looked amused, as if he were trying to hold in a laugh. He knelt down and beckoned the baby towards him. 

Aziraphale’s suspicions were confirmed when the baby yelled “Papa!” tearfully before he ran over and babbled to the man, who responded calmly in a language Aziraphale couldn’t understand. Whatever the man said quickly stopped the little one’s tears, and Aziraphale watched as the baby wiped his round cheeks, saying “Oh;” as if the man had reminded him of something important. 

They spoke a moment longer, and then the little one approached Aziraphale again, gesturing his little chubby hands at Aziraphale’s legs and exclaiming “Oh no!” at the air. Then he turned to Aziraphale, his voice softer and his large brown eyes wide with concern; “Oh no..” He reached out to gently pet Aziraphale’s arm, apparently no longer afraid of him. 

The man approached Aziraphale, and any apologies that were on his tongue died as he got a closer look and realized that this was the most gorgeous man he had ever seen. In the firelight he could see that his hair was a deep red, tied back and plaited into a braid that fell nearly to his waist. He was tall and slender, and appeared to be in his late 30s or early 40s, with clearly defined muscles that rippled when he moved. His arms were practically golden with all the freckles on his shoulders and arms. He was mostly naked, wearing pants that appeared to be fashioned from some sort of animal skin and resembled boxers. When he knelt down in front of Aziraphale, he could see a sharp jawline and a delicate, almost fragile looking bone structure. 

What rendered Aziraphale speechless however, were he man’s eyes. He had never seen anything like them before. They were a honey gold, kind and glittering like topaz as he regarded Aziraphale before reaching out. 

He gasped softly as a cool, calloused palm was pressed carefully to his cheek. When the back of his long, elegant hand pressed itself to his forehead, Aziraphale realized the beautiful stranger was checking him for signs of a fever. After a moment the man nodded, appearing to be satisfied. He pulled out something that looked like a canteen and handed it to Aziraphale, a question in his eyes. 

Aziraphale took the canteen and could have cried in relief at the taste of fresh cold water. It would occur to him later that he should be far more cautious of accepting drinks from strangers, but one could hardly blame him for not thinking clearly given the day he had. He drank his fill and handed it back to the man, who accepted the container and gently tapped on Aziraphale’s collarbone with two fingers. “Safe.”

Hope briefly overpowered Aziraphale’s exhausted confusion. “You speak English?” 

The man frowned, fixing him with a deeply apologetic look. “No speak English..” He paused and furrowed his brows, contemplating his next words. “Long long time. Most..” He placed two skinny fingers to his temple and brought them away with a fluttering gesture; “gone.”

So the man could speak English at one point, but had clearly forgotten how over time. Aziraphale tried not to show his disappointment too obviously, as the man really did look quite sorry about not being able to communicate. “Oh. Oh well that’s alright. I do wish I could thank you for your help, this whole ordeal really has gone quite pear shaped!”

The man nodded even though he clearly couldn’t understand what Aziraphale was saying. He placed a hand over his chest. “Crowley.” He pointed at the babe who had sat down beside his father, chewing his little necklace and watching everything avidly. “Warlock.” He placed a hand back on Aziraphale’s chest, always so gentle, and looked at him expectantly.

Aziraphale blinked at them in confusion for a moment before he realized those were their names, and that this.. Crowley was asking for his. “Oh! Goodness how terribly rude of me I do apologize, I am Aziraphale Fell.”

When Crowley and Warlock both stared at him blankly he realized his error of prattling on. He pointed at his own chest. “Aziraphale.” To make sure that he understood, he reached out and lightly tapped Crowley’s arm. “Crowley?”

Crowley grinned with delight and nodded enthusiastically. He touched Aziraphale’s hand. “Ahzirfull?”

“No, no Papa, no.” The baby, Warlock he must assume, interrupted this time to address his father. “Azi-fell” Warlock corrected through his necklace chewing, completely confident in his pronunciation.

He couldn't help but chuckle slightly at both of their butchered attempts. “Ah-Zira-Fell.” He pronounced slowly. 

“Ah-Zira-Fell.” Crowley said slowly, a look of relief crossing those lovely features when Aziraphale nodded encouragingly. “Good, Crowley!” Oh dear, he hoped he didn’t sound too condescending. 

It didn’t seem so, as Crowley turned to Warlock to correct him. “Ah-Zira-Fell.” He told the boy slowly. Warlock repeated the name before shaking his head. “No. Azi-fell.” Crowley turned back to Aziraphale, shrugging in apologetic defeat and lips quirking up in a lopsided smile that Aziraphale found hopelessly charming.

He watched carefully as Crowley got up and went to a corner of the cave to retrieve several items. When he came back with his arms full of clay jars, he put them down before turning to Aziraphale. Crowley placed a hand on his bandaged leg. “Hurt. Look?” When Aziraphale nodded Crowley repositioned himself to give himself more room to work. Before he unwrapped the bandages he beckoned little Warlock to come sit by him. 

Aziraphale watched as Crowley seemed to be explaining what he was doing to Warlock as he gently unwrapped Aziraphale’s bandages. Aziraphale gasped when Crowley unwrapped the bandages and saw that Crowley had managed to stop the bleeding from the cut on his leg while he was unconscious. The cut was straight, and ran halfway up the length of his calf. He closed his eyes, feeling woozy and tried to focus on the timbre of Crowley’s voice as he spoke to distract himself. 

He startled slightly, but didn’t struggle, didn’t even open his eyes as he felt himself being lifted bridal style and carried further into the cave. The last thing he was aware of was being placed carefully somewhere soft, and warm, and he couldn’t stop the smallest satisfied smile from forming as he finally gave into sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley was combing the beach for debris after the storm when he stumbles upon the most beautiful stranger he had ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I want to thank you so so much for the absolutely WONDERFUL response I got from this first chapter! It was so motivating!
> 
> This chapter will be from Crowley's POV, and in italics, Warlock and Crowley are speaking their native language, I hope that doesn't come across as confusing!

Whenever a big storm rolled by, Crowley always liked to comb the beaches afterwards, as the oceans almost always washed up something. Most of the time it wasn’t very useful, but at least it was interesting. He was strolling around the beach in the morning after last night’s rather intense storm when he first heard it. 

Crowley cocked his head curiously. It was the sound of branches breaking, and leaves rustling loudly. But animals hardly ever came this close to the sand, and they were never that loud and clumsy sounding, unless they were injured. 

Very carefully, he pulled out the knife hanging on his belt and crept into the trees, keeping low as he slowly stalked towards the sound. Wounded animals could be erratic and dangerous, so it was to protect himself and maybe put the poor thing out of its misery if the injury was too severe. When he got closer however, he froze in shock when he heard a _voice_. A voice that sounded like speaking, like man.

Silent as a cat, he sheathed his knife, leapt at a nearby tree and scaled up several branches. Without making a sound he peeked down through the foliage and felt his jaw drop at what he saw on the ground. 

It _was_ a man, or at least he was sure it was, wearing a puffy orange thing on his chest. His hair was so white, it looked like the clouds. His skin was so pale, and even from several feet away Crowley could tell the man looked wonderfully soft. 

He desperately wanted to get closer, but he didn’t know yet if this man would be a threat. His instincts told him he wasn’t, but to watch and learn more. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw a man, someone like him. 

He made himself comfortable in the tree branches as he watched the man mutter to himself. The way he spoke sounded painfully familiar. It took him a moment to realize that the man was speaking the same language Crowley’s mother spoke. English, he remembered vaguely. 

Crowley was frustratingly close to understanding the man. He hadn’t spoken English since he was five, when his mother died and he learned the language of the natives while they were still alive. It sounded almost like someone was having a conversation in another room; that maybe if he just listened hard enough, he could make out the words. 

Crowley watched in approval as the man started tipping leaves full of rain water into his mouth. Part of him was dying to approach, but another, louder part of him was shuddering at the concept of actually approaching the man. What would he even say? How would he introduce himself? The man would probably be terrified of Crowley. 

When the man spoke again, Crowley focused on the sound of his voice, rather than the words. The man’s voice was so light, so pretty sounding; gentle in a way he could never learn. The word angelic entered his mind before he forcefully shoved it down.

He watched the man look around in confusion before deciding on a direction to go. As he walked away and headed north, Crowley followed; silently jumping from branch to branch. He made sure to wait until he was out of the man’s line of sight before moving again. 

He realized that the man was climbing the hill and cursed inwardly. The trees thinned as the elevation increased so it would be difficult to follow the man without being seen. When he ran out of trees Crowley kept low to the ground, moving from bush to bush, staying in the tall grass until the stranger made it to the top of the small mountain. The man frequently stopped to rest and Crowley’s heart ached to help him, but he still couldn't find the courage to call out to him. 

Crowley perked up when he saw the man noticing his fire to the east. He usually kept a small fire going in his home, and it had captured the man’s attention. 

He saw what was going to happen just a few seconds before it did. The man approached the edge of the hill, and Crowley saw the soft ground start to give. Before Crowley could warn or shout, the man was tumbling down the bluff. 

No longer concerned with hiding, Crowley worked his way down the hill as fast as he could; which still wasn’t very fast as he was trying to keep his balance at the same time. When he finally got to him, the stranger had lost consciousness and his face was deathly pale. 

Kneeling down, Crowley quickly examined the wounds. There was a deep cut on one leg, and the other leg was clearly broken. Crowley had treated plenty of cuts before, but his knowledge on broken bones was hazy. His priority at the moment was to stop the bleeding. 

With shaking hands he wrapped the cut tightly with some soft leaves nearby and his belt; it wasn’t nearly good enough but it would last until he got the man home. Crowley then started pawing the ground looking for some straight sticks to serve as some makeshift tourniquet. 

Getting the man back to the cave was a treacherous task, to say the least. Crowley had to partially drag the stranger three miles through the jungle, as it was important that his legs stayed straight. 

When he finally, finally reached the entrance to his home, Dog bounded out first to investigate the newcomer. Following her was Warlock, who froze in place when he saw their guest. 

“ _What is that Papa_?”

“ _It’s a man, little one_.” Crowley said, voice still patient even as he dragged the man further inside and placed him gingerly on the softer surface. 

The next hour went by in a blur; as he juggled Warlock’s questions and treated the man. He gently removed the man’s clothing and large orange vest checking for other injuries, before setting to work on bandaging the cut. After taking a few deep breaths, Crowley set the broken bone in place with a sharp snap, wincing with Warlock at the sound. 

“ _Man dead_?” Warlock asked around his thumb, still keeping a healthy distance. 

“ _Not dead_ ,” Crowley finished cleaning the cut before spreading some medicinal ointment around the wound. “ _Very hurt though, big_ ‘oh no.’”

“Oh no,” Warlock repeated, coming to stand behind his father. Dog sniffed at the stranger, appraising him; curious but not threatened by the new guest in their cave. 

Crowley finished the makeshift tourniquet to hold the broken leg straight, but he knew it wasn’t a long term solution. He needed to go back out, collect water and mud to form a clay cast if he wanted the leg to heal properly. 

Looking out of the cave he sighed, sunset was fast approaching. Crowley knew he could get a couple of things but water and more vines for the numbing ointment were most important; he didn’t want the man to be in too much pain. He would move faster if he left Warlock with Dog. 

He stared hard at the man on the ground, searching for any signs of waking. It didn’t matter how pretty this stranger was, if Crowley thought he would be a threat to his cub he wouldn’t hesitate to take action. As it was, it appeared that the man was well and truly passed out, and Dog can absolutely protect Warlock from a stranger who couldn’t use their legs. But hopefully it won’t come to that. 

When Crowley left to gather his supplies and returned a half hour later, he hastened his stride when he heard the man calling out from the cave. He reached the entrance of the cave just as Warlock came and startled the white haired man, drawing a shriek from him. Warlock yelped and stumbled back to land on his rump before bursting into tears. 

He clamped his lips together tightly to keep from bursting out into laughter. The sight of the two most non-threatening creatures in the world screaming at each other like they had seen a cobra, was honestly terribly funny. Something in him softened when he saw the white haired man try to calm Warlock, and he decided to end both of their suffering and intervene.

“Warlock.”

He stepped forward and knelt down, inviting Warlock closer. Immediately he stood up on his little legs and ran to him. “ _Papa!_ ” He cried tearfully. “ _Papa, man roared at me_!”

“ _Well of course he did, he was scared_.” Crowley reasoned as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “ _Wolves are scary, even little wolf cubs like you_.” He tapped on Warlock’s chest as he spoke. 

Like he hoped, Warlock stopped crying almost immediately as he was reminded of this. “ _Oh_.” 

Quick to remove evidence that he was scared, Warlock wiped his little cheeks and nose. His cub was getting dirty, Crowley thought in the back of his mind; needed to give him a bath soon. He brushed a strand of hair from his face and brought himself back into the present conversation

“ _Man sometimes screams when they are scared.”_ Crowley reminded him gently, noticing for the first time that evening that Warlock had gotten his makeshift diaper off, _again_ , and decided to ignore it, having bigger concerns this evening.

“ _I am-I am very scary.”_ Warlock mumbled as though he was just remembering this.

Crowley nodded in agreement, “ _So scary. The scariest little wolf in the world. Men also scream when they are hurt. And this man is very hurt remember?”_

Warlock’s eyes widened and he turned and toddled over to the white haired man and looked down at his legs. “Oh no!” He exclaimed, one of the very few phrases Crowley remembered from his parents and taught his own son. “Oh no…” Warlock gently stroked White Haired Man’s arm, and the blonde man smiled gratefully. 

Now that the man was awake, Crowley needed to check on some things. He approached and knelt down in front of the stranger, who looked quite surprised. It took everything Crowley had to keep himself from stopping and just staring into those eyes. So blue, like the ocean, or the sky; he hadn’t known eyes could even be that color. He forced himself to focus however, and was relieved to see the man’s eyes were clear. He gently felt the man's face and forehead, marveling silently at how soft the skin was, and only slightly regretted pulling away when he felt no signs of fever. 

He offered his water to the man, pleased to see that he was able to drink. When he was finished Crowley wanted to reassure him somehow, so he lightly tapped the pale skin above his shirt. “Safe.”

The man’s eyes widened before he spoke, “You speak English?”

Crowley frowned, already guilty for having to disappoint this man. “No speak English..” He racked his brain, trying desperately to remember all the English words his mother said to him to try and communicate with this lovely creature. “Long long time. Most..” God what was that word? He couldn’t remember so he had to mime it. “Gone.”

The man nodded, and seemed to understand before babbling another sentence in English far too fast for Crowley to interpret, so he just nodded and decided now was as good of a time as any to introduce himself. “Crowley.” He pressed his hand to his own chest. He gestured toward his little cub, who was chewing on his seashell necklace. “Warlock.” Warlock perked up at the sound of his name, looking between the two men curiously. 

The blond man blinked for a moment before startling slightly. He said something else in English that Crowley desperately hoped wasn’t his name, for he had no hope of repeating and remembering it.. The man blushed after a moment and pointed at his own chest. “Aziraphale.” The man, Aziraphale, reached over and touched Crowley’s arm, and he felt goosebumps already forming on his skin under the man's soft hand. “Crowley?”

Crowley nodded, ignoring the way his heart skipped a beat when this Aziraphale said his name. At least he was sure that was the man’s name. He touched his hand, unsure; “Ahzirfull?”

“No no Papa, no.” Warlock piped up. “Azi-fell.” His cub sounded so sure that he was almost ready to agree with him when Aziraphale chuckled. 

“Ah-zira-fell.” He pronounced slowly. Crowley congratulated himself for managing not to gasp when Aziraphale nodded and gave him an absolutely radiant smile. “Good Crowley!”

He exhaled in relief and preened at the praise before turning towards his son. “Ah-Zira-Fell.”

Crowley learned that once Warlock decided something, there was usually nothing he could do to change his little one’s mind. So when Warlock shook his head and said, “No. Azi-fell.” Crowley could only shrug and hope that this Aziraphale wasn’t offended. 

He stood and went to where he kept his medical supplies. It wasn’t much, but it was still impressive what he made due with. Crowley had compiled a decent stock of bandages, jars of antibiotic creams made from mold and flowers, and numbing oils made from various vines on the island. 

Fully equipped, Crowley took his place next to Aziraphale again and spoke again. “Hurt.” He gestured to the leg, feeling rather stupid at how foreign the words sounded in his mouth; “Look?” At Aziraphale’s nod he gestured to Warlock to come sit next to him. 

Crowley was never censored from blood as he grew up, he watched his mother treat graphic injuries in the village when he was Warlock’s age, listening to her as she explained her process. He began practicing the basics early, learning how to slow bleeding, clean a wound, apply bandages. When he got older he occasionally had to apply stitches to others and himself when the injury required it. 

When Warlock came along, Crowley took every opportunity to teach him anything he could, no matter his age. 

“ _Always keep a wound clean_.” Crowley instructed gently, making sure Warlock was paying attention. “ _You can tell it needs cleaning if you see puffiness, any yellow parts, or any liquid other than blood coming out.”_ He waited for Warlock’s nod before continuing, “ _Don’t let it get dirty, hurts a lot, and hard to get clean again. Wash with water at least twice a day, also to change the bandages.”_

Crowley looked up and frowned. Aziraphale had gone pale and was closing his eyes tightly. Worried that he would pass out again, Crowley quickly wrapped up before lifting Aziraphale to bring him further into the cave, settling him on the soft carpet of blankets and pillows.

When Aziraphale smiled and snuggled into the blankets, Crowley let himself feel the first tendrils of hope that this man would be part of their family. He hadn’t realized he was staring until Warlock’s voice broke his concentration. 

“ _Papa?”_

Crowley shook his head and turned his attention to his little one. “ _It’s late little wolf cub. Time to sleep.”_

Warlock’s shoulders slumped in disappointment before reaching his hands up for uppies, “ _Story?”_

Crowley grinned and scooped up Warlock into his arms, heading for their den. When they had settled down in the blankets not far from the softly snoring Aziraphale, Crowley made sure Warlock was fully snuggled in before he started. 

“ _Long long ago, before people came from the sky to walk the land, there were only animals, and no night. That all changed when the spirit decided to challenge the animals to a contest…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will be on WEDNESDAYS! I am skipping next Wednesday for some editing and catching up on other projects though, so next chapter update will be Oct. 7th!!!
> 
> I'd love to know your thoughts on this! 
> 
> I hope you all are drinking plenty of water and staying safe! <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Aziraphale’s nervous giggle burst out of him before he could reign it in. When he met Crowley’s eyes again, his breath caught. Crowley’s eyes had darkened and his lips were parted slightly. Aziraphale didn’t look away, terrified of breaking this exciting and new energy that was blossoming..." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so ✨nervous✨ about this chapter! It's long and I'm worried it drags but I'm tired of looking at it so I'll just yeet it out here!

It’s really quite interesting how easy it is to lose track of the date when you're no longer counting the days. All Aziraphale knew was that he spent the next several days in and out of slumber, only waking to eat and hobble outside the cave to relieve himself. 

When he first woke up again, he took a moment to really contemplate his situation. He hadn’t made any friends on the cruise ship, so there was a good chance that no one would realize he was missing until the boat landed and his sisters realized he hadn’t returned with the rest of the passengers. 

The cruise still had another two weeks before docking at its final destination, and it would probably be at least another two weeks after that before his sisters realized something was amiss. Give it another week for them to gather resources for a search and Aziraphale was facing at least a month on the island.

At least Crowley’s kindness gave him a chance of surviving until rescue. Without him Aziraphale surely would have been dead days ago. 

The first day Aziraphale was woken by Crowley, he had formed what appeared to be a makeshift cast out of clay to keep Aziraphale’s leg in place. When that was taken care of, Crowley wordlessly checked him for a fever before washing the cut on his leg and reapplying ointments and adding fresh bandages.

As time went on, and Aziraphale’s condition gradually improved, they all settled into a sort of routine.

In the mornings after Aziraphale’s bandages were changed, Crowley would prepare the food for the day; which was actually a much higher quality than Aziraphale had expected. There was a plethora of fruits, vegetables, and greens with enough variety in the menu to prevent boredom. 

Breakfast was almost always something simple like a fruit, usually chopped up into a wooden bowl with some chia seeds. For proteins they commonly had fish and some sort of cooked eggs. 

Lunch was typically some type of stew configuration, prepared in the morning and left to simmer over embers for whenever they got hungry in the afternoon. The dishes were usually seasoned with sea salt and various herbs and spices that Aziraphale sometimes recognized. While it wasn’t the fine dining he had spoiled himself with in London, he was very pleased at the variety and the nutritional value, especially for Warlock’s sake. 

After breakfast Crowley would often leave for hours at a time, leaving Warlock with a sea wolf that appeared to be named Dog. Aziraphale couldn’t believe he missed her before on his first night here, she was a massive and intimidating creature, but profoundly patient with Warlock, no matter how many times he pulled on her ears or tail. 

At some point in the afternoon they would have lunch and sometimes Aziraphale could convince Warlock to lay down for a nap to give Dog some reprieve. At random intervals throughout the day, Crowley would return briefly to check on them, check Aziraphale’s bandages and make sure there was enough water stored in the clay jugs nearby before departing again for a few more hours. 

When Crowley would come back in the evenings, they would have dinner, which usually consisted of whatever vegetables he had picked and whatever animal he had trapped that day. He would feed Warlock and then tell him a story or sing him a lullaby nearly every night after dinner. And while Aziraphale could never understand the words, it was so easy to lose himself and fall asleep to Crowley’s smooth and deep speech. Occasionally he even caught words that sounded familiar; he hoped that if Crowley wouldn’t speak English, then maybe Aziraphale could learn his language. 

Aziraphale tried several times in the beginning to engage Crowley in a conversation that first morning, and for several days afterwards, but to his disappointment Crowley hadn’t spoken a word of English since Aziraphale’s first night on the island. He appeared to pay attention when Aziraphale spoke, but could never seem to understand what he was saying. Unless Aziraphale was able to mime his requests, it was nearly impossible to communicate with him. 

Aziraphale couldn’t help but wonder if Crowley was so standoff-ish because he was a little suspicious of Aziraphale, simply because he was naturally protective of Warlock, who was alone with Aziraphale most of the day. 

Aziraphale didn’t know much about Crowley’s parenting style, but he gathered that one of the rules for Warlock was that he wasn’t to stray too far from the cave entrance without Crowley, and Dog appeared to be the enforcer of that rule, often physically blocking Warlock with her body if he ever tried to go too far. But Warlock never really seemed to need rules, capable of entertaining himself using his own toys, finger painting with colored clay, or playing chase with Dog. 

Since Aziraphale was bound to the cave as well, Warlock and Dog naturally became his constant companions. It was actually Warlock who began taking the first steps to bridge the communication gap between them. 

Crowley was out and Aziraphale and Warlock had just woken up from their afternoon nap. Aziraphale was staring up at the cavernous ceiling, feeling terribly bored when Warlock had brought him a bowl of water and splashed it with his fingers, saying a word, then pointing to Aziraphale questioningly. 

After a few tries, Aziraphale finally caught on when he asked if Warlock wanted water, and Warlock repeated the word back to him “Wah-ta.” He splashed the water in the bowl, looking at him for confirmation. “Wah-ta?” 

After that breakthrough, Aziraphale and Warlock had developed a sort of game. Warlock would bring him random objects; fruits, sticks, flowers, leaves, rocks, and he would learn the English term for them. Aziraphale tried to learn Warlock’s word for it as well, but it often became jumbled in his head without any way to write it down. Warlock could be a surprisingly patient teacher though, and always repeated a word whenever Aziraphale asked. He didn’t struggle with the game at all, instead usually getting the hang of the word after a few tries and frequently remembering it. 

Aziraphale desperately wished Crowley was around long enough to learn their game as well. He seemed terribly busy however, often waking up well before Aziraphale, and going to sleep long after him. It was likely for the best though, there were less chances for Aziraphale to make an utter fool of himself with his staring. He thought he would get used to Crowley at some point, but his beauty still managed to leave him breathless every day. 

Whenever Crowley was home, Aziraphale couldn’t help but melt a little at the sight of Crowley and Warlock together, as they clearly had an incredible bond. 

Crowley never seemed too busy to give Warlock his undivided attention whenever he asked for it. Multiple times, he saw Crowley drop whatever he was doing and get down on his knees to Warlock’s eye level, even when Warlock was showing him something as insignificant as a rock. The rare time that Warlock worked himself up into a tantrum, Crowley had infinite patience; always seeming to know exactly what Warlock needed, whether it was to be held or redirected to another task. 

While Crowley had some unique parenting methods, like a refusal to childproof anything, and allowing a wild animal to act as a babysitter, Aziraphale could positively see the love gushing out of Crowley sometimes when he played with his son, and it did funny things to his own chest to see it. 

  
  


*****

  
  


One morning Aziraphale had woken up late to see the cave bustling with activity. The first thing he noticed was that Crowley was speaking more than he had ever heard, gathering some materials into his bag. Warlock and Dog chasing each other under Crowley’s feet, jabbering and yipping with excitement. 

When he noticed Aziraphale sitting up, Crowley smiled and walked towards him, offering him a few choices of fruit for breakfast.

“Is there something happening dear?” Aziraphale asked in between bites of mango, not really expecting a response. 

So he was surprised when Crowley made a noise, then huffed in frustration before thinking about his words and trying again. “Water day?”

“Water day?” Aziraphale repeated slowly, completely clueless. 

Crowley nodded quickly before reaching back into his bag. He pulled out a pale green bar and placed it in Aziraphale’s hand before asking again. “Water day?”

Aziraphale looked and gasped with delight to see that it was soap. “Oh you mean washing!”

“Washing.” Crowley said the word slowly, and Aziraphale tried not to stare at his lips as he practiced the new word. 

“Yes dear. Wash with water. Oh that sounds lovely!” Aziraphale grinned with excitement, it had well been over a week since he had had a bath, and getting the layers of grime off sounded positively heavenly. 

He stared at the bar and recognized the little dove symbol carved into it. This wasn’t a home made soap, this was a brand. Where on earth did he get this? He held back a frustrated sigh, given their language gap he had no idea how to even ask. 

His train of thought was brought to a screeching halt when Crowley suddenly picked him up bridal style. He let out a startled squawk and Crowley froze. 

“Hurt?”

“N-No dear.”

Crowley looked at him a moment as if unsure he believed Aziraphale before nodding and striding towards the cave entrance, calling for Warlock and Dog to follow him over his shoulder. 

They walked to their destination in relative silence. Aziraphale had no idea where they were going, but he hoped it wasn’t far, he knew he was a plump man, and he didn’t want to force Crowley to deal with that for longer than necessary. 

However if Crowley was struggling carrying Aziraphale’s weight, he was doing an excellent job hiding it. He kept his stride smooth and easy, his arms not even shaking from the strain of carrying him; and the walk was partially uphill no less! It was becoming slightly difficult to keep his own breathing steady; to distract himself he listened for Warlock and Dog, who were following them but their voices seemed to indicate they had got distracted playing somewhere. 

After about 10 minutes, they got to a clearing that revealed a stunning view and a lovely lagoon of fresh water, deep and surprisingly clean and free of aquatic life. As he looked around he could see evidence that this was a frequented spot, noting the small fire pit off to the side of the pool, and a few small wooden toys floating along the surface of the water. The pool itself had a natural rock ledge that dropped off naturally into the depths. 

Crowley walked into the pool, wading in before stopping at the ledge and gingerly setting Aziraphale down, grimacing in sympathy when Aziraphale gasped at the cold. Sitting down, the water came up to his chest, and his heart warmed at the way Crowley wordlessly fussed over him before kneeling down in the water beside him.

“Wash?” Crowley asked, gently tugging the sleeve of Aziraphale’s undershirt. 

Ah. Yes, he supposed bathing would require taking his clothes off. Since these were his only clothes, it was very considerate of Crowley to offer to wash them for him. 

“Thank you my dear,” Aziraphale nodded in affirmation; “That’s very kind of you.”

Instead of responding, Crowley gently helped Aziraphale out of his shirt. Despite the coolness of the water, Aziraphale knew he must have been as red as a tomato when he lifted his hips and Crowley gently tugged down his underwear and worked them over his legs, careful not to move his legs too much. 

Crowley, ever the gentleman, gave no indication that he was affected by Aziraphale’s nudity, and honestly he didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed at this as Crowley set his clothes on a nearby rock with a small smile. 

This line of thought was interrupted by the bushes rustling and excited shouting coming from the other side of the pool, announcing Warlock’s arrival. Before any of them could react, Warlock ran straight through the bushes, over the edge, and plunged into the deeper end of the pool. 

“Warlock! Oh my God!” Aziraphale yelled, lunging instinctively to dive in the water, only to be held back by Crowley of all people. 

“No! No move Aziraph-angel!” Crowley wrapped his long arms tightly around Aziraphale from behind to keep him in place. 

“But  _ Crowley _ he’s-” 

His words were cut off when Warlock broke the surface, laughing and shaking his head. He paddled about in a small circle, calling for Dog and for Crowley to come in the water as well.

“Papa! Papa, ‘Wah-ta’! See?”

Aziraphale sagged with relief back into Crowley’s arms, placing a hand over his chest as he watched Warlock play and bob just under the surface of the water, reminding Aziraphale of an otter.

“Warlock like fish.” Crowley rumbled gently in his ear. Aziraphale responded with a shaky chuckle as his adrenaline faded, and leaned his head back onto Crowley’s shoulder. 

“Thank goodness.” After a few moments he felt shame start to creep in; of course Warlock would never be anything other than completely safe with Crowley, even if his parenting methods were on the unconventional side.

Crowley squeezed Aziraphale gently in reassurance, drawing his attention to those beautiful forearms. His arms weren’t as freckled as his shoulders, and they were deceptively strong, water droplets catching in the light dusting of reddish hair. 

It was interesting, being this physically close to a person he had only known for a few days. Being British, he didn’t have the same affectionate tendencies as say, the Americans would have. He generally shied away from anything more intimate than a handshake unless he was with his family. 

That wasn’t the case with Crowley; here he was, basically spooning with the man and he really only knew Crowley’s name. Despite their short acquaintance however, Aziraphale felt comfortable with him; the feeling of safety being nestled in his arms like this easily overpowered any feelings of awkwardness. 

It felt  _ right. _

Before Aziraphale could dwell on the sudden thought, Crowley unexpectedly let him go and pulled away, leaving Aziraphale feeling bereft at the lack of warmth. He watched Crowley wade to the edge of the pool, grabbing the bag he left on the grassy edge and pulling out the soap he had brought, tossing it into the water before hooking his hands on the waistband of his shorts and-

And oh God above he’s nude. Crowley’s nude and Aziraphale felt like he was having a heart attack. He looked down, suddenly incredibly fascinated by a leaf that was floating along the surface of the water. 

Completely shameless, Crowley dived gracefully into the water, swimming under Warlock before breaking the surface and lifting him up into the air laughing. As Warlock squealed and struggled Crowley held him with one hand and paddled to the submerged ledge where Aziraphale was sitting, calling over his shoulder for Dog to run over and sit near them all. 

When Crowley got there he stood Warlock up and asked him something that Warlock seemed to enthusiastically agree to. Stretching his long body forward, Crowley sifted through his bag again, unwittingly showing off that glorious arse that Aziraphale was absolutely  _ not _ looking at, choosing instead to look to the sky in prayer even though he hadn’t set foot in a church in years. 

Crowley sat back he had a large handful of blueberries. Aziraphale watched in utter confusion as Crowley smushed the blueberries in his hands into a paste and proceeded to rub some all over Warlock’s mouth and cheeks. He then took the remaining mess and rubbed it on Dog’s snout as well. After waiting for Crowley’s cue, both Warlock and Dog began trying to lick the sweet mixture off their own faces. 

With Warlock distracted, Crowley looked up and sent a wink Aziraphale’s way before grabbing the bar of soap that had been floating nearby. As Warlock focused on trying to race Dog in their contest, Crowley sudsed up his hands and began thoroughly scrubbing Warlock from head to toe with ease. 

Aziraphale watched in awe as Crowley expertly bathed the toddler while said child was none the wiser. When he had finished, he let Warlock go back to swimming before handing the soap to Aziraphale and pushing himself out of the pool within his lean arms.

Aziraphale washed himself quickly with the soap, trying desperately not to oggle as Crowley strode around naked and prepared a fire in the firepit to cook lunch, which was a simple fish stew with coconut milk, wild onions, chiles, and limes.

He had finished washing himself by the time Crowley set all the ingredients in a small pot to simmer, and handed the bar of soap to Crowley. Aziraphale thought he couldn’t get much closer to spontaneous combustion then he already was, but then Crowley unbraided his hair and used the soap to scrub the roots of his hair before jumping back into the water to rinse off and play with Warlock some more. 

By the time Crowley had managed to coax Warlock out of the water, wash Aziraphale’s clothes and hang them on a branch to dry, and carefully lift Aziraphale to a comfortable patch of grass in the sun, the stew was ready and giving off a tantalizing smell. After they ate, Warlock spent some time babbling excitedly to the both of them before grabbing one of the toys he had brought out of the pool with him. 

“Azi-Fell!” Warlock waved the toy in Aziraphale’s face expectedly. 

“Oh! Erm-  _ Toy _ .”

“Erm-toy!”

Aziraphale bit his lips to keep himself from smiling; “ _ Toy _ .”

“Toy.” Warlock repeated confidently. “Papa! Toy!”

Crowley blinked, “Toy?”

Warlock nodded with superiority and waved the toy, nearly catching Crowley in the face with it. “Toy” He gestured to Aziraphale; “Azi-fell speak.”

He couldn’t hold back his smile this time, Warlock had taken to calling English ‘ _ Azi-fell speak _ and while it was precious, it wasn’t accurate. 

“English.” Aziraphale corrected gently. 

“English.” Warlock repeated, he seemed to consider something before flapping his hand in Aziraphale’s face. “English?”

Unable to resist, Aziraphale caught the chubby hand and pressed a quick kiss to it before letting it go; “ _ Hands _ .”

“Haaands.” Warlock repeated his new word a few times before deciding he was already bored of the game for now and wandering off with his toy duck, leaving Aziraphale to notice Crowley staring at him strangely. 

Oh dear, had he overstepped? Warlock was a sweet, affectionate baby, with chubby soft skin that positively begged for kisses, but perhaps Crowley didn’t approve of that sort of contact with a stranger?

He opened his mouth to apologize but Crowley spoke first, flexing his long, elegant hand into a fist. “Hands?”

Crowley looked curious, but also shy, as if self-conscious about asking. After stuttering for a moment he nodded in confirmation. “Hands.”

Crowley moved closer, stopping himself when he was about a foot away from Aziraphale. He was terribly distracted by the fact that they were both still nude, but managed not to gasp when Crowley took one of his hands into both of his, cupping it tenderly. He grabbed Aziraphale’s thumb and wiggled it slightly, “Hands?”

He swallowed hard before answering, “Thumb.”

“Thumb.” Crowley pronounced the word slowly. His touch ghosted over Aziraphale’s hand and held his index finger. “Thumb?”

“Fingers.” Aziraphale replied, wiggling all four of them, indicating which one’s the term applied to. Moving almost out of his control, Aziraphale lifted his hand and booped Crowley on the nose. 

“Nose.” Crowley’s golden eyes fluttered in surprise before he grinned and booped Aziraphale back. 

“Nose.”

Aziraphale’s nervous giggle burst out of him before he could reign it in. When he met Crowley’s eyes again, his breath caught. Crowley’s eyes had darkened and his lips were parted slightly. Aziraphale didn’t look away, terrified of breaking this exciting and new energy that was blossoming. 

Crowley raised one of his hands and curled one of Aziraphale’s locks around his finger, the question in his eyes. 

“H-Hair.”

“Hair.” Crowley repeated softly, voice lower than before. Unable to resist, Aziraphale let his own hand drift and skim across the spill of red over Crowley’s freckled shoulder, still damp from their swim. 

He froze completely when he felt Crowley’s fingers ghost over his bottom lip in unsure movements. He stared at Crowley, wondering if his fingers would taste like the stew they just ate, wondering if Crowley could feel how ragged his breath had gotten. 

With a trembling hand Aziraphale mimicked his movement, lightly touching his plump, softened fingers to Crowley’s thin pink lips. They were parted ever so slightly, Crowley’s tongue shining just inside and could clearly see himself pushing his fingers just past those lips, and into Crowley’s mouth for him to suck... 

The vision was so vivid, accompanied by a mad desire to actually do it, shot through him so sharply that Aziraphale jerked his hand away from Crowley as if he had been burned. He tucked his hands in his lap and sat back as much as his limited mobility would allow him, looking anywhere but at Crowley. 

In his peripheral vision, he could see Crowley cock his head in confusion. He opened his mouth to say something, but a ball of mud hit him squarely in the chest, making them both yelp in surprise. 

Crowley sputtered a moment before turning towards a certain muddy handed baby, who had snuck up on them at some point, and was staring at his father with a smug and challenging grin. 

When Crowley crouched into a pouncing position, Warlock gave a joyful shriek and took off towards the pool again, not getting far at all before Crowley lunged and caught him, rendering him helpless with a ruthless tickle attack. 

As Aziraphale watched the father and son play, he tried to calm the racing in his heart and the flipping in his stomach. He may be out of physical danger, but he was realizing that he still may not survive ‘till rescue if he didn’t get a hold of himself, and soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They may be in a pool, but Aziraphale's still thirssttyyyy...
> 
> I'd love to know what you think? I'm self-conscious and new to writing longer chapters, so let me know if something drags longer or if the pacing gets weird?
> 
> Hope you're drinking plenty of water and staying safe my dears! Next update is OCTOBER 21st!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It was by far the worst week of Crowley's life, and he didn’t know how he would have survived without Aziraphale..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Warlock have a terrible, no good, very bad 2 weeks...
> 
> In italics, that's when Crowley and Warlock speak 'not english' lol.
> 
> CW SPIDER BITE and WOUND TREATMENT

Crowley was making his rounds through his ‘territory,’ checking on the plants on the island. There weren’t many predators on the island at all, and so he was never concerned about being out here alone. Besides, this way he could have time to practice. 

“Strawberry.” He growled at the plant, daring it to show any signs of weakness like wilting, or spots. He checked out another plant, wracking his memory for the word; “Flower.”

Crowley spent hours of his day doing this, racking his memory for any words of English and practicing the ones he had learned from Warlock. 

Every night, Crowley had been keeping Warlock up far past his bedtime, making him teach Crowley all the English words he had learned that day after Aziraphale had fallen asleep. He asked and practiced until the babe was nodding off in his arms. He tried telling himself it was because he wanted to help Warlock practice Aziraphale’s language. The reality though is that his motivations were more selfish; he wanted to take the chance to learn as much as possible without Aziraphale teaching him. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to speak to Aziraphale; truthfully he wanted nothing more than to speak with him, to laugh with him and tease him like he would Warlock. However he was humiliated at the lack of English he could remember, with practice he hoped to someday be able to hold a conversation with Aziraphale without looking like a total idiot.

Despite the years without use, English was still Crowley’s native language, and it proved to be an advantage. The more he practiced with Warlock, the easier the words came back to him. He even found that he was starting to remember words Aziraphale hadn’t taught Warlock. It made him feel hopeful that they could overcome their language barrier.

As his home came within sight, he couldn't help the smile that slowly spread on his face. Aziraphale had been getting better by the day, already no longer needing the bandages for the cut on his leg, and soon the clay cast will be ready to be removed and can be replaced with a splint. It was good timing too; Warlock had been getting rather ansty, constantly asking Crowley now when he could go exploring with Aziraphale.

The fact that he wasn’t tackled by said antsy toddler when he reached the mouth of the cave like he usually was left him feeling bemused. His curiosity quickly turned into icy dread when he whistled for Dog and Aziraphale immediately cried out for him at the sound, his voice high pitched and shaking with fear. 

“Crowley! Oh Crowley please come quickly!”

He strode quickly into the cave, nerves bubbling and chest tightening with fear when he smelled sick in the air. All the breath left his lungs when he saw Aziraphale bundled where they slept, clutching a glassy eyed Warlock, pale except for two feverish red spots on his cheeks. 

He rushed to them and dropped to his knees next to Aziraphale, holding out his arms. When Aziraphale transferred Warlock over to him Warlock barely responded, whimpering softly before weakly gagging and spitting up water down his chest. He shuddered at how hot Warlock was to the touch, at the way he didn’t even acknowledge Crowley. What could have happened? He was fine when Crowley left this morning. 

“Sick long?” Crowley looked at Aziraphale for the first time as he asked, quickly noticing that he looked pale and haggard, but his eyes appeared clear and free of fever. 

“After you left.” Aziraphale said some other words that Crowley didn’t understand and he fought the urge to cry. He needed to know Warlock’s symptoms and how long they had been happening but he didn’t even know how to ask. 

“Eat, then sick?” Crowley asked, using the process of elimination. Aziraphale nodded and tried to explain without going off topic, understanding how important precise communication was at this moment. 

“Warlock had breakfast with cooked egg. He was sick after that, so I laid him down to sleep. When he woke up, he had the fever. I’ve been trying to give him water but he won’t keep it down.” He gestured helplessly to the canteen of water and to the nearby pot that looked to have been used to boiling water. 

“Only water he drank?” It was sounding like food poisoning, but if Warlock drank water from another place…

“This was all he drank, Crowley I promise. But Crowley-”

“You?” If it wasn’t contagious and Aziraphale was ok, then perhaps it may just be food poisoning..

“I’m fine dear. Crowley-” Looking slightly frustrated, Aziraphale reached for Warlock and gently moved his small diaper down his leg, revealing two angry looking puncture wounds. They were so inflamed that Warlock’s entire hip was swollen and red, it looked agonizing, and Crowley instantly recognized the culprit. 

“ _Spider.”_ He murmured in his own language. He looked around the cave, as if he could suddenly see the spider in the dim light and execute his revenge on the creature who would dare hurt his son. He vaguely heard Aziraphale talking but he couldn’t bring himself to listen, instead concentrating on the bite 

Looking closer at the bite Crowley realized that he had seen this before; it looked to be a brown recluse spider bite. His mother had treated a few bites, and the natives had their own home remedies as well. This was a bite that he had seen adults survive; it was painful, but certainly possible. A baby though...

Warlock started to weakly cry and Crowley felt his heart breaking. He gathered his son close to his chest before standing and heading towards where he kept his jar of ointments and bandages. 

As gently as he could, he washed Warlock’s bite and applied the numbing ointments and bandages. He gently tried to feed Warlock the flowers that held anti-inflammatory properties, but Warlock spit them up along with whatever water Crowley tried to pour down his throat. Eventually there was nothing more that Crowley could do except blow out the lamps and try to encourage them all to get some rest. 

As he held Warlock in his arms, hot and trembling, he couldn’t stop himself from silently breaking down. He hadn’t felt this helpless since his mother died, since the natives died. It seemed that no matter what he did, the people he loved always left him at some point. Somehow he managed to survive losing his mother, but his son.. If he lost Warlock…

Crowley thought he had been crying silently, but Aziraphale seemed to hear him. Rather than telling Crowley to stop however, he gathered Crowley and Warlock into his arms and held them gently against him, allowing Crowley to bury himself in that soft chest and allow himself to let go, to purge himself of the fear and guilt plaguing him while Aziraphale made soothing nonsense noises and rocked them gently. 

If he hadn’t been crying so hard, Cowley probably would have noticed the gentle kisses being pressed to the crown of his head. 

****

They moved in tandem to the other, anticipating each other’s and Warlock’s needs with minimal words exchanged between them. They tended to Warlock in shifts, the baby constantly in one of their arms while the other either slept or did chores around the cave.

Without asking, Aziraphale combed the cave looking for the spider, finding and killing it with Dog’s help, and confirming Crowley’s suspicions that it was in fact a brown recluse. He also took over all food preparation and cleaning.

When Warlock couldn’t keep his medicine down, it was Aziraphale’s idea to mix it with ginger and strawberry paste to help with the taste and nausea. He kept a clean cool cloth nearby at all times to keep him clean and reduce his fever as best they could.

Warlock slept fitfully for the better part of three days, only waking to cry and struggle pitifully when Crowley would go to clean his bite wound. As unnerving as it was to see his energetic son sleep more than he ever had in his life, it was even worse when he was awake, whenever the pain was too great for him to sleep. 

The poor boy’s conscious hours seemed to be filled with pain as the tissue surrounding the bite died and formed an open wound, forcing Crowley to cut out the black and dead flesh. Whenever it was over, Warlock would cower from Crowley in Aziraphale’s arms, sobbing until he either vomited or passed out again. It was by far the worst week of Crowley's life, and he didn’t know how he would have survived without Aziraphale. 

Whenever Crowley had to treat the bite Aziraphale would hold Warlock tightly, humming and gently murmuring in his ear to distract them. He took leaves from nearby raspberry plants and added water, making a hot drink he called ‘tea,’ made sure Crowley ate at least once a day, and would sing softly to Warlock. He spoke to Crowley too, and while he couldn’t understand the words, he allowed himself to draw comfort from the soft voice. 

Even Dog helped wherever she could, offering small licks to Warlock's hands, lettiing him knead and pull her fur absentmindedly, and cuddling with them whenever they laid down to sleep. She took on the role of protector while Crowley was out of commission, posting herself at the mouth of the cave, not even leaving to hunt in the evenings.

Warlock’s fever broke on the third day, much to both of their relief. He actually kept his breakfast down on the fifth day, and by the eighth, it appeared that he was through the worst of it. The wound looked worse than it actually was, but all the dead tissue was gone, and the swelling had gone down greatly. He packed the wound with medicinal ointments and bandages, changing and cleaning at least twice a day.

By the 12th day, Warlock was already tired of being held all the time by the tenth day, and seemed to not remember the ordeal he had been through. 

*****

As Warlock recovered, he grew more and more energetic and spoiled, for Aziraphale and Crowley were so relieved at his improvement they couldn’t find it in themselves to deny him anything while he was still confined to bed rest. Eventually, they had run out of ways to entertain him and keep him off his leg at the same time when Crowley had a strike of inspiration and decided to leave the cave for a bit to get something for them. 

He was incredibly nervous to do so, but Aziraphale seemed ok with it, and that both he and Dog will keep Warlock close and in sight. Crowley was incredibly grateful, blown away by Aziraphale’s kindness as well as his beauty. Those were just a few words that came to him more and more when he was around Aziraphale. 

One word that came to him frequently was ‘angel.’ Shortly after Aziraphale arrived, Crowley recalled a previously forgotten memory of his mother reading a book to him, showing him pictures and pointing out an angel in the story. The angel in the picture book was lovely; blue eyed, blonde, and kind looking, just like Aziraphale. He quickly made the association with Aziraphale with his mind, even slipping up and calling Aziraphale that when they bathed together. 

Thinking back to that day at the pool, Crowley shivered at the memory of being able to see and touch all of that white smooth skin. And then to feel that deceptively strong body holding him and his son in their cave..

He shouldn’t dwell on those things. Shouldn’t dwell on the things Aziraphale made Crowley feel. He knew they were wrong, his mother and the natives had told him so, but he didn’t know how to get rid of these feelings. Aziraphale could do most unexpected things that would make heat coil in Crowley’s gut, or send a jolt down Crowley’s spine that was both frightening and intoxicating. God, just watching the man eat even, he enjoyed it more than eating food himself. And the sounds he made.. It was like they seared into his brain, being recalled in the most inconvenient moments. 

He decided after the day at the pool not to say anything, to keep these feelings buried deep inside. His mother was right, men didn't take other men as partners, he never saw it in the tribe and his mother told him multiple times that it was wrong. He knew Aziraphale would probably be beyond disgusted if he had any idea about Crowley's urges. Just the thought of Aziraphale recoiling from him made his chest ache.

On his way to his destination, he grimly remembers the day almost three years ago when a loud metal bird crashed from the sky and exploded onto the ground. As he approaches the metal husk, he shakes away the memories of the screams and tries to remember why he came here. 

Several objects had fallen from the sky when the thing crashed in flames. After the chaos subsided and the cries had faded, Crowley had made it a point to collect everything that had fallen from the sky and everything that was still in the cavernous thing when the flames had died down and store the collection of items in a cave not far from the crash site, where he kept things he couldn’t do anything with but couldn’t bring himself to destroy. It was full of fabrics, books, soaps, and other objects that he didn’t have a use for; because of all the bad memories associated with this place, he hardly ever had a reason to come back here. 

This time though, he did have a reason to motivate himself to move the rock propped in the entrance of the small cave and dip inside. He came here looking for something that he hopes Aziraphale would like. He needed to give him something to show how much he appreciated Aziraphale’s care for the both of them. 

Sometimes when he had come back in the evenings, he had seen where Aziraphale had made symbols and markings in the dirt. Warlock managed to explain to Crowley that Aziraphale was writing out their words when they played their game to try and remember them. Crowley figured that if Aziraphale knew how to write the symbols, perhaps he knew how to read the symbols as well. If Aziraphale could read to them, Warlock could get some entertainment while he was still on bed rest, they could practice their English, and Crowley could listen to that heavenly voice; a win-win for everyone really. 

After searching through the cases full of objects, he finally found what he was looking for. Crowley didn’t know this, but one of the passengers on the plane was a literature professor, and carried copies of _The Complete Works of Sherlock Holmes, The Canterbury Tales,_ and _The Complete Works of William Shakespeare._

He stuffed the books into his bag and hurried back to the cave. There was a spring in his step and hope sparking in his chest when he wondered how Aziraphale would react. 

To his absolute horror however, Aziraphale ran his fingers over the books and burst into tears. 

His cries echoed slightly throughout the cave, each sob breaking Crowley’s heart. He didn’t even try to get away when Warlock ran up to him, clearly furious and started hitting Crowley with his little slipper. 

_“No! Bad Papa! Mean Papa! Make Azi-Fell_ **_cry_** _!”_

_“I didn’t mean to!”_ Crowley babbled back, trying not to panic. Fuck he wanted the earth to swallow him whole. _“I’m sorry! thought he would like it! I’ll get rid of them.”_

When he reached for books though, Aziraphale surprised him by clutching them closer to his chest, shaking his head.

“Bad?” Crowley asked softly, baffled at Aziraphale’s behavior. 

“No, _good_ Crowley!” Aziraphale forced out between hiccuping sobs. “ _Very good._ Thank you dear, thank you so much.”

“G-good?” Crowley repeated, incredibly confused and desperately hoping this was a positive thing. He could have cried in relief when Aziraphale nodded and gave him a teary smile, hugging the books to his chest. 

Upon seeing Aziraphale relax, Warlock stopped his assault on his father and went up to Aziraphale to investigate. Confident that he wasn’t in trouble with the angel, Crowley couldn’t resist sticking out his tongue vindictively at his son, and had to quickly dodge out of the way when Warlock threw his shoe at him. 

Aziraphale tutted in disapproval at them, but he could see the corners of that pretty mouth twitching upward. He turned his attention to the books in his arms and gazed at them so lovingly that Crowley actually felt a ridiculous spike of jealousy.

“Oh Warlock look!” Aziraphale wrapped his arm around Crowley’s son and drew him close, gesturing excitedly towards the books. Warlock stuck his thumb in his mouth and nodded placatingly along as Aziraphale spoke, still shooting him concerned looks as if he expected him to start crying again. 

No longer the focus of Aziraphale’s blinding smile, Crowley worked up the courage to ask his original question. “R-Read?”

Aziraphale cut himself off mid-sentence and looked up at Crowley fixing him with an intense look that made Crowley regret asking “What was that dear?”

“Ngk-” He cleared his throat; “Read? English?” He flushed with shame, hating himself and his limitations. “You read English; Warlock and Crowley?”

Aziraphale’s mouth formed a perfect ‘O’ and appeared to be speechless for a moment. Before Crowley could try to take it back however, Aziraphale nodded and graced them with another teary smile. 

“Oh but of _course_ darling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor babies!!! 
> 
> *Disclaimer* Brown Recluse spider bites can be treated at home with antibiotics, cleaning it religiously, and anti-inflammatory drugs. IF EVERYTHING GOES WELL!! ALWAYS SEEK MEDICAL ATTENTION FOR ANY ANIMAL BITE!!
> 
> Next update should be WEDNESDAY, November 4th. I'll do my best to keep to the schedule, I just started a new job on Monday and I'm not sure how the workload will look when things get going. 
> 
> Please let me know how you liked it?
> 
> Hope you are drinking plenty of water and staying safe my dears!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Crowley pondered that for a moment before nodding with understanding; “Mmm, beautiful. Like you.” 
> 
> Aziraphale choked on his spit, suddenly feeling all the air had been punched out of him...."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm really sorry for all the errors I didn't catch. It's late, and this election has got me on the brink of a ✨mental breakdown✨
> 
> But anyway, have some pining with a dash of plot!

“But ghosts aren’t real, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale sighed “Crowley, the ghosts represent Hamlet’s struggles” he put down the book, praying for patience. He had been having to stop and explain almost every metaphor and theme. Crowley could be very literal at times and it was making the reading extremely slow going. 

“In a lot of Shakespeare’s works, the ghosts are symbols of-” He cut himself off, catching the strange look on Crowley’s face. His eyes were glittering, and he was clearly holding back a grin. 

Aziraphale felt himself flush. “You knew that already didn’t you?! Oh you.. fiend! You’ve been teasing me this whole time haven’t you?”

His suspicions were confirmed when instead of denying it, Crowley just grinned wider, revealing sharp canines and making the corners of his eyes wrinkle. Aziraphale pursed his lips, trying valiantly to look upset for a moment longer before bursting into giggles. 

He shook his head fondly and closed the book with a happy sigh; “Goodness but I have missed this play. _Hamlet_ was always one of my favorites, even if he could buck up a bit.”

Crowley nodded in consideration, “What is another favorite?”

He brightened at the opportunity to talk about his favorite subject; “Now that is a tricky question, there are so many absolutely wonderful works out there! But I suppose if I _had_ to choose…”

Instead of looking bored or like he regretted asking, Crowley listened intently while Aziraphale bubbled happily about Wilde and Austen. Literature was nearly as instrumental to Aziraphale’s life as eating and sleeping were; not having a book nearby had felt like having a missing limb. He hoped he could someday be able to explain how much Crowley’s gift meant to him, or the way it made him feel. 

The week Crowley had gotten him the books, the next several days were rainy; perfect for staying inside and reading. Reading aloud the adventures of _Hamlet, MacBeth,_ and Sherlock Holmes was proving to be an absolute delight. It was slow and required a lot of patience, but Crowley and Warlock both were perfect pupils. 

Reading with them made Aziraphale wonder if he should have perhaps gone into teaching. Watching just how fast they both progressed in English was wondrous and gratifying. Crowley was quickly getting the hang of metaphors and themes, and Warlock was progressing beautifully in his grasp of adjectives and verbs. The father and son both seemed to prefer the adventures of Sherlock Holmes, but Crowley also enjoyed Shakespeare’s more comedic works. 

He was in the middle of comparing Arthur Conan Doyle and Agatha Christie when he was interrupted by his own stomach growling for lunch. Crowley made to get up but Aziraphale gestured him back down. “Let me dear, I didn’t get a chance to stretch my legs yet.”

As Aziraphale cautiously got up, Warlock sprang into action beside him. “I help Azi-Fell!”

“Whatever would I do without you?” Aziraphale asked his new companion fondly and without a hint of sarcasm as they began their brave trek to the clay pot of chopped fruit a daunting 10 feet away. 

Aziraphale’s leg continued to improve, and no longer needed the cast which improved his mobility greatly. Instead a splint made of fabric and dried bark hugged his leg, easy to take off for washing. Crowley also began to encourage gentle exercises to help him regain strength in his legs. 

Warlock was also steadily gaining strength and energy, however the bite wound on his leg was still closing, and he needed to regain the weight he had lost during his fever. He was allowed to walk around the cave, but not to run. This led to a very bored toddler who jumped at the slightest opportunity to do something even remotely interesting.

When they had gotten back with their snacks, Crowley still had not moved from where he was sprawled out across one of his favorite spots in the cave, a pile of blankets and pillows resembling a couch. He watched them and snatched a piece of melon from Warlock’s bowl when he cuddled next to him. 

“Papa tell story!”

“Ngk-” Crowley choked slightly on the melon, clearing his throat before shaking his head, red-faced; “Erm- no. M’not good at English-”

“I think your English is wonderful Crowley!” Aziraphale interrupted sincerely, “You’re getting better and better every day. Perhaps a story would be good practice?” 

“Papa pleeeeeease??”

Crowley sighed, letting his head fall back against the cushion, and Aziraphale knew the battle was lost. They have been teaching Warlock to say please when asking for things, and now made it next to impossible to refuse him anything. 

He scooted to the side to make room for Warlock, who settled into place with a small victorious wiggle. Crowley’s eyes darted to Aziraphale nervously before speaking; and he responded with an encouraging smile. 

“Long long ago, before people came from the sky to walk the land, there were only animals, and no night. That all changed when the spirit decided to challenge the animals to a contest.”

“The spirit decided to challenge the animals. They said that every creature was to stay awake, those who made it the longest would be rewarded. To make it even harder, the spirit took the sun away, making everything dark.”

Crowley used his hands to tell the story as much as he used his word. While he stumbled and paused at points, he persevered and his natural dramatic flair soon had Aziraphale and Warlock hanging onto every word. 

“In the darkness, only a few were able to stay awake. When the spirit ended the contest, seven days had gone by. The winners, plants and animals both were given rewards. The animals, they could see at night, and hunt in both night and day. The plants that stayed awake, were able to stay green when the cold months came, and the sun left the sky.”

“When people finally came from the sky and walked the earth, we couldn’t see at night. We had to fear the wolf, the wildcat, and the snakes.”

“In the end,” Crowley finished sheepishly, “It was fire that made people safe. Fire gave people light in the dark, when we couldn’t see.”

If he didn’t know it would embarrass Crowley, Aziraphale would have broken into applause. 

  
  


*******

“ _Oof_!”

Aziraphale startled awake at the feeling of 11kg flopping on his chest. Recognizing the feeling immediately, Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Warlock without opening his eyes and tried to cuddle them both back to sleep. 

“Azi-fell,” Warlock wiggled in protest; “Wake up!”

Warlock squirmed away and Aziraphale sat up and rubbed his eyes before blinking them open. There was a soft lantern light; in the shadows he could see Crowley hunched over a bag packing it. 

“Water day?” Aziraphale asked, still fuzzy and half-asleep. 

Crowley snorted and closed his bag. When he came closer to Aziraphale he could see Crowley practically glowing with excitement. “Not washing now. This...good! Leaving soon.”

With that Crowley expertly tied a sash around himself and tucked Warlock in before sliding it around to where the baby was hanging off his back. Once Warlock was secure, he slung the bag over his shoulder and then bent over and scooped Aziraphale up. 

As Crowley left the cave Aziraphale sputtered in protest, “Now really dear, I am perfectly capable of walking by myself now you know!”

“It is dark.” Crowley argued; “Too many branches in the way, and you’re still too slow.” 

Aziraphale huffed, “Well if someone would take off this dratted splint I needn’t be so slow would I?”

“Don’t know, would you?” 

When Aziraphale playfully swatted Crowley’s arm and pouted he chuckled, voice still slightly husky from sleep. “Tomorrow, I will make a cane for you. Remove splint then, yes?”

Aziraphale’s pout vanished and a bright smile quickly replaced it. “Oh really?”

Crowley’s mouth quirked upward, but didn’t respond as he started picking his way gently downhill. Aziraphale listened to the nearby crash of waves, Dog moving somewhere out f sight around them, and Warlock’s gentle snores. When the ground was level again Aziraphale yawned and asked “Where exactly are we going Crowley?”

Crowley shook his head and smiled coyly “You’ll see, almost there.” 

As he spoke he reached the treeline and walked along the beach. Aziraphale’s jaw dropped at the sight of the full moon, making the ocean twinkle like diamonds. The stars were so _bright_ , the light pollution in London was always limiting his view and he couldn’t remember the last time he had seen so many of them at once. It made him feel so small. It occurred to him that this was his first time back on the beach since he first washed up here. He looked around, this didn’t look like the place he washed up though, this area had much smoother sand. 

Crowley seemed to know exactly where he was going though, and soon he was kneeling in the sand, setting Aziraphale down before taking his bag off his shoulder and unwrapping Warlock. 

Warlock of course, began grumbling immediately at being shifted. “Coooold!” He whined, chattering his teeth dramatically. “Fire?”

“No fire.” Crowley hummed distractedly. He was prepared though, grabbing spare blankets from his bag and piling them around Aziraphale and Warlock, wrapping them in a cocoon. “Need to watch.”

“Watch for what dear?” Now Aziraphale was utterly confused, and Warlock didn’t seem to know what was going on either as he watched them both from his blanket nest. 

Crowley looked up at the sky, almost as if searching for something in the stars. Whatever he found seemed to satisfy him, and he drew a large, tentative circle in the sand, telling them to concentrate on the center of the circle. 

If he hadn’t been looking where Crowley was pointing Aziraphale would have missed it. The smallest nudge under the wet sand, something pushing its way towards the surface. 

After a few moments, a small baby turtle head poked out of the ground, blinking away the sand staring blearily around him. Crowley grinned with satisfied triumph at Aziraphale and Warlock’s shocked and delighted gasps.

The baby turtle wiggled it’s way out of its den and started slowly moving towards the crashing waves. Once that first one had burst free, it’s siblings soon followed; burrowing out of the sand and clumsily making their way to the ocean. 

Warlock had been shocked into still silence, not taking his eyes off the turtle hatching when Crowley wrapped his arms around them both, settling between them.

“They were born in the sand.” Crowley muttered to a starstruck Warlock. “But when time is right, turtles hatch and they go back home, to the ocean.”

“How-how do they know where home is?” Warlock asked in a hushed voice, reaching forward to touch a turtle before Crowley gently pulled back his hand. 

“Little wolf cubs help them find the way home; you keep them safe. Yes?” 

Warlock nodded solemnly, and with that Crowley lifted Warlock out of his blankets and onto his feet. “Don’t touch,” Crowley instructed; “keep the seagulls from getting them. Help them home.”

Chilliness forgotten, Warlock was soon walking alongside the turtles, carrying himself on chubby legs and babbling encouragement at the turtles while shouting at the disappointed seagulls. He took his job seriously, gently redirecting any turtles losing their way, and clapping with delight when the first one was swept away in a wave. 

Watching Warlock laugh and play in the moonlight, Aziraphale felt a rush of love so strong for the toddler that it felt like something was cracking inside him. It took his breath away and he felt tears prickling at his eyes. There was some fear as well, but mostly it was something else; an overwhelming feeling that he would do anything to see all of these moments from now on, to share them with Crowley. 

“This is amazing Crowley!” The words practically exploded out of Aziraphale. “I’ve read about turtle hatchings of course, but I never dreamed I would be able to see it with my very eyes!”

“I am..” Crowley paused, searching for the word as Aziraphale patiently watched those lovely eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “Very happy that you like it. That Warlock likes it. This is..special to me.”

“How did you know they were here?”

“They come every year, around this time. This is the first time I could show the hatching to others.”

“Really?”

Crowley nodded, his eyes taking on a faraway look as they watched the remaining turtles make their way towards the ocean. 

“Been happening here for as long as I have. Watched it happen every year since I was young. It means new life. It’s..sacred.”

“And Warlock’s never seen this before?”

“No, too little before.”

Something about that statement niggled the back of Aziraphale’s mind. He couldn’t stop himself from asking; “Well what about Warlock’s mother? Didn’t you show this to her?”

Crowley’s eyes widened, and Aziraphale took in the emotions that flashed across his face. Sadness, and..fear? Both emotions were brief flickers before Crowley schooled his expression to a guarded mask and responded.

“His mother died.”

Aziraphale took care not to feel let down by the lack of volunteered information. “I’m sure you must miss her..”

“I didn’t know her.”

Aziraphale didn’t bother trying to disguise his confusion. “I’m-I’m sorry?”

Crowley sighed heavily and looked out to Warlock, watching him playing keep away with the waves. He looked as though he was debating with himself if he should disclose more. Aziraphale waited patiently for Crowley to fill the silence, determined not to push too hard too fast. 

“3 years ago, there was a crash. Big, big thing fell from the sky. Lots of fire and noise-”

“Was it a plane?” Aziraphale offered.

“Plane!” Crowley snapped his fingers, shooting a grateful look in Aziraphale’s direction before continuing with his story. “A plane crashed from the sky. I tried to help, but...but there weren’t many alive.” His expression became slightly haunted. Aziraphale fought the urge to pull him into his arms and sooth him, to remind him he was safe. 

“One woman was alive when I got there. She spoke English too. Was very-” Lost for the word, he made a round gesture at his stomach, miming a pregnant belly. Aziraphale nodded that he understood, anxious for him to continue. 

“I helped her out of the plane, treated her burns the best I could, tried to feed her. After a few days she had Warlock. I tried-” Crowley’s voice became strained. “I tried to help her, but-but there was so much blood and..and-”

Aziraphale felt his heart aching as Crowley told his story. The more he thought about it, the more familiar his account sounded. He remembered hearing about a plane disappearance on the news about three years ago. It was assumed to have crashed; it made international news because an American diplomat and his pregnant wife passengers were on the lost plane, adding to the tragedy and mystery...

Poor Crowley, he must have been so frightened and confused. Caring for yourself in the jungle is one thing, but to be tasked with the care of a newborn on top of that..

“How did you feed him Crowley? Newborn babies need milk or some kind of formula.”

Crowley’s expression turned shocked. “Do _you_ have cubs?!”

“No no of course not. But I have taken care of my sisters’ children before, so I have some experience.”

Understanding replaced shock and he nodded. “You’re right. Cubs need milk. I had a pair of goats, and one produced milk. I used that and then made soy milk when the goat milk dried up. Helped that he started eating solid foods early. Was eating eggs in less than a year.”

He was in awe of this red haired man’s creativity and nurturing nature. He reached forward and interlaced his fingers with Crowley’s.

“That’s an incredible story. Crowley you are truly extraordinary, I can’t imagine what it must have been like.”

Crowley flushed, looking almost uncomfortable with the praise. “M’not.”

A new thought occurred to Aziraphale. A thought that was out before he could reign it back in. “Crowley, do you remember where the plane crashed?”

“Yes, why?”

His thoughts were racing as the implications set in. “Did you find any electronics, specifically a radio?”

Crowley frowned; “I don’t know what that is.”

“A radio is an instrument to talk to people far away. If there is a radio on the plane, I might be able to get in touch with my family for help! I’m sure they are so worried!”

Aziraphale knew he must be imagining the hint of sadness in Crowley’s smile as he spoke. “I took everything I could to a separate cave close by the plane. I can take you to the plane when your leg is better. We will look for radio, and help get you home.”

“Oh! Oh Crowley _thank you!”_ he gushed with excitement. 

“Sure Angel,” Crowley murmured, eyes downcast. “Anything.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, and Aziraphale gazed at the sky, letting the stars steal his breath away.

“Crowley,” his voice trembled slightly, “It’s so beautiful.” Aziraphale breathed in awe. 

“Beautiful?” Crowley asked curiously. 

Aziraphale blinked at his abrupt question before answering; “Yes, something that is nice to look at, or listen to. It makes you happy; beautiful.” 

Crowley pondered that for a moment before nodding with understanding; “Mmm, beautiful. Like you.” 

Aziraphale choked on his spit, suddenly feeling all the air had been punched out of him.

He was in love with Crowley. He wanted him of course, but not just physically. He wanted to _love_ Crowley, to take care of him and Warlock, and he had no idea how he could possibly be parted from them. 

While Crowley was facing the ocean, Aziraphale leaned forward and delicately kissed his cheek. Crowley froze before turning to look at him, eyes widened, but thankfully not angry. 

Before he could ask, Aziraphale rushed to explain himself. “I wanted to thank you..for showing me this. And for saving me of course.”

Crowley opened his mouth as if to protest, but something in Aziraphale’s face made his expression soften. “Welcome angel.”

With a small happy wiggle, he turned to watch Warlock. He gasped softly when he felt soft dry lips pressed against his cheek that were gone much too soon. 

He turned to see a flushed Crowley, fiddling around in the sand with a stick. “For reading to us. Teaching us English. Thank you angel.” 

Aziraphale held onto Crowley’s hand, suddenly and irrationally afraid to let go. What Crowley had told him was huge. If there was some sort of radio in the wreckage of that plane, it would mean he may be able to contact someone off this island for help. 

What’s more, Crowley actually agreed to help him, even seemed pleased to help Aziraphale. The possibility of going home suddenly seemed more real and attainable then it had since he came here. 

Why didn’t that make him feel happy? Why did it make him feel afraid to let go of Crowley’s hand?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking around, it means so much. I'd love to know what you think!
> 
> I also want to say that it's a really scary time in the U.S right now, and I hope everyone out there is taking care of themselves as best they can. 
> 
> Drink plenty of water and stay safe my dears!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But he knew he couldn’t deny Crowley answers, truthfully he didn’t think he was capable of denying Crowley or Warlock anything. He was also dreadfully curious as well, knowing that the book held answers to the questions he had since he first ended up in Crowley’s cave..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about the delay and long wait for this chapter! Both my parents got COVID (still got one left though!🥲), my mental health went in the trash and I'm frankly still climbing out of that hole. 
> 
> I don't like this chapter. I don't know if it's because I don't like the quality or because I've been stuck on it for the past 6 months and I'm tired of looking at it. Probably both. To anyone that is still reading this little thing, I appreciate you more than you know❤

The next several days were arguably paradise for both Aziraphale and Crowley, as they healed and began to function as a unit or, dare Aziraphale say it, a family. The cut on Aziraphale’s leg had healed completely under Crowley’s loving attention and he began using a cane, crafted expertly out of bamboo. Warlock had also healed completely, and his energy seemed to be endless now. To strengthen Aziraphale’s leg, they all went on regular walks around the forests and beaches, with Crowley teaching Aziraphale about edible flora around the island, or fishing around the coast. 

In the evening, after a dinner that either Aziraphale or Crowley had prepared, Warlock and Crowley would curl up next to Aziraphale, and he would read aloud from their books until either Warlock fell asleep or his voice was hoarse. After they would tuck Warlock in, Crowley and Aziraphale would often talk into the night, the space between them charged with something Aziraphale was afraid to identify.

Something had changed between Aziraphale and Crowley after that night on the beach, but both were afraid to mention it for fear of ruining it. Crowley noticed that Aziraphale had become much more touchy feely, placing a hand on his arm when chuckling or letting his touch linger whenever their hands brushed. Instead of keeping a respectful distance between them when they fell asleep, Aziraphale happily allowed himself to be wrapped into Crowley’s arms, his bony chest used as a pillow. 

A part of Crowley knew that it was wrong to encourage it. Every so often he could hear the voices from his childhood hissing not to touch. That this wasn’t for him. 

But it had just been so long since Crowley was touched with such tenderness and affection, both of which flowed from Aziraphale like water. He couldn’t resist leaning into Aziraphale’s hands, silently begging for more and mourning whenever he moved away. 

He wanted Aziraphale’s touch so badly he burned with it sometimes. He would make up some excuse to leave the cave and walk around in order to prevent himself from plastering onto Aziraphale, burying himself until they were fused chest to chest and begging him to never let go. 

It was getting increasingly harder for Aziraphale to keep his feelings in check as well. His fingers itched with urge to run his hands through that long hair, or to cup Crowley’s delicate cheek. 

It would have been easier if he only desired Crowley physically; but the love for him often filled him to the brim until he positively ached from the effort of holding it back. He wanted to take care of Crowley, watch him laugh and help shoulder his burdens; and he wanted to take care of Warlock, wanted to be a father to him. 

Aziraphale wanted to act on his feelings, but he couldn’t be sure Crowley desired him in the same way. He also believed that Crowley didn’t have any relationship experience, romantic or physical. He was so scared of taking advantage of him, or making him feel obligated for something he wasn’t ready for. He couldn’t bear it if he ruined the delicate balance they had struck, he couldn’t risk losing Crowley and Warlock. 

  
  


*****

  
  


Crowley kept his word, and as soon as Aziraphale was more mobile he decided to make an excursion to the crashed plane, taking Warlock and Dog along as well. 

They packed some food that Crowley carried in his bag, and they left in the morning after breakfast. The wreckage was in another part of the island where the forest was thicker, casting long shadows, giving an almost sinister feeling to the environment. Aziraphale could see that it made Crowley uncomfortable to come here, despite the smiles he plastered on his face when he knew Warlock was watching. 

The rusted husk of the plane came up rather suddenly, perfectly hidden by overgrowth. The more Aziraphale looked, he could see the old scorch marks in the trees, and the melted pieces of the metal frame. 

What surprised Aziraphale the most was the sadness he could feel from this place, as if the pain and fear that resulted from the crash had been trapped inside the thick growth of the forest canopy, and was now polluting the air. He shook his head at his imagination and beamed comfortingly down at Warlock, who had huddled behind Aziraphale and Crowley, suddenly nervous. 

“Took everything from the..plane.” Crowley piped up; “Put it in a cave nearby.”

Aziraphale picked up Warlock and balanced him on his hip as Crowley showed them a nearby cave, almost completely hidden by vines. He waited outside and entertained Warlock while Crowley inspected the cave and lit torches. 

When he entered the cave Aziraphale’s jaw dropped at the positively massive amounts of cargo that Crowley had managed to fit in such a small space. Stacked floor to ceiling were crates and luggage, everything surprisingly well organized. 

Aziraphale quickly got to work opening things, looking for electronics but immediately getting distracted when he saw clothes in the very first crate. He hadn't had any clothes since he arrived on this island, still wearing his well-washed but ragged undershirt and pants. His delighted cry quickly drew Warlock’s attention, who had never seen clothes before.

They all spent the next hour or so trying on clothes of various styles and designs. Aziraphale was the only one looking for clothes to replace his original outfit, while Warlock and Crowley were just happy to be involved.

Warlock found a frankly ridiculous t-shirt with a wolf on the front that was far too big for him but he absolutely loved it because it reminded him of Dog. Aziraphale hadn’t been able to find any clothes in his particular style, but his tastes were quite old fashioned so he wasn’t expecting to find a waistcoat in here anyway. He did find some very practical collared shirts and one pair each of shorts and trousers that had fit him. Crowley was still examining all the clothes, clearly not as enthusiastic as the other two but willing to humor them. 

He was carefully folding the clothes he had decided to take with him when he heard Warlock exclaim “Papa!” Aziraphale looked up curiously and felt his jaw drop. 

Crowley was wearing an absolutely stunning emerald green sundress. It was a scooped neckline, and an A-line cut, flaring out at the hips and falling to the middle of his thigh. The fabric was flowing without being sheer, and radiated elegance while still looking incredibly soft and comfortable. 

At least, the _dress_ looked comfortable. Crowley however, looked distinctly uncomfortable and nervous, shuffling his feet and clearly fighting a blush, darting uncertain looks at Aziraphale from underneath his lashes. He looked shy and demure, and Aziraphale could feel his mouth physically beginning to water. God, what was wrong with him?

He swallowed hard before finding the right words. “Beautiful.” Aziraphale’s voice cracked worse than a teenagers when he said it, but could tell Crowley heard it when he ducked his head and fought a smile.

Warlock, observant little thing he was, immediately saw the effect that word had on his father and agreed with Aziraphale even without knowing the meaning. 

“Boo-tiful Papa! Papa boo-tiful!!.” He began chanting happily, clapping his hands in applause. 

Crowley really did smile this time, flashing a surprised grin that made Aziraphale's stomach swoop. He wanted to gather Crowley into his arms and kiss him senseless. Was Crowley truly clueless about how beautiful he was? Did he really have no idea that he could bring men and women to their knees just from his stride? That his soft hair begged for fingers to run through it, giving it a firm tug to bring his head back and bare the arch of that pale kissable throat-

“Papa! Papa” Warlock spun around, making the bottom of the t-shirt that nearly swallowed him fan out around him. When he stopped spinning he looked at Crowley expectantly. 

Obligingly, Crowley spun around, making the dress flare dramatically and his braid followed appealingly. Warlock emitted a painfully high happy shriek, clapping and hopping in place before Crowley scooped him up and they spun around together.

While Warlock and Crowley continued to play in the clothes, Aziraphale wandered a little further in the cave to investigate, fighting disappointment when he couldn’t find any electronics. When he opened one box tucked away from the others, his eyes were drawn to an old looking book with a leather cover. There was no title, and when he picked it up to inspect it Aziraphale was interested to see that it looked to be a journal. He opened up the cover to get some more clues and froze at the name written inside. 

_Journal of Dr. Lilith Crowley, Botanist and Medical Practitioner for_ _Médecins Sans Frontières_

_1978_

Dr. Lilith Crowley.. This must have been Crowley’s mother’s journal. Did Crowley know what this was when he stored it away?

Aziraphale looked furtively over his shoulder for Crowley. He really should tell him what he found, but he couldn’t resist the pull of potential knowledge and answers this book could provide. He would tell Crowley, he would, he decided as he flipped to the first entry. He just wanted to take a quick peek.

  
  


_April 18th, 1981_

_We finally arrived at the island! Although I wouldn’t be amiss to say just barely, there was hardly a landing strip. It was so bumpy I nearly vomited. Little Anthony loved it of course, bounced and clapped like it was some sort of amusement park ride._

_He’s adjusting to this venture more beautifully than I could have ever hoped. When Anthony and I ran from Lucifer, I never thought that Médecins Sans Frontières would actually let me bring him along for my work._

_For the first time in a long, long time, I feel hopeful. I feel free. I’m far away from Lucifer, in a place so beautiful and secluded it's like he doesn’t exist. He isn't here, he can’t hurt me or Anthony anymore._

_It all feels like a dream, I’m almost scared that I’m going to wake up. I get to spend time with my son, doing work that I love. This island is covered in rare flora, and I cannot WAIT to meet the natives and see what they can teach us about the rare species here._

Aziraphale finished the first entry with a sad smile on his face. Anthony... was that Crowley's first name? It must have been, he was the only other Crowley on the island. If this was the case, did that mean Crowley, or Anthony been on this island ever since he was a baby? Lilith seemed so happy in this first entry, and hopeful. Lucifer must have been Anthony’s father? Judging from the context he’s mentioned in here, it certainly sounds like it was an unhappy, potentially dangerous situation; especially if she felt she needed to run from him. Aziraphale was starting to realize that reading this was giving him more questions than answers-

“Did you find it?”

He jumped slightly at Crowley’s voice, turning around to see him leaning against a crate. He couldn’t resist running his eyes up and down Crowley’s figure, still wrapped in that beautiful dress like a present. “Find what dear?”

“Radio. Did you find one?”

“Oh. Oh!” Aziraphale looked around, having been completely distracted by the book in his hands. “No I-I’m afraid not.” 

Crowley’s shoulders slouched in disappointment. “Sorry angel.” 

Aziraphale was quick to assure Crowley all was well, but Crowley’s attention was caught by the book. He only spared a glance however, before looking back to Aziraphale and gesturing his head. 

“Ready to go?”

He nodded and quickly gathered his things, making sure to tuck the book into his new clothes to avoid questions from Warlock. He had no idea why he wasn’t immediately telling Crowley about this discovery; despite the guilt he felt, he still made no mention of it. 

The rest of the afternoon quickly flew by. Aziraphale was sad to see the dress go, but the disappointment was soothed by Crowley returning to his usual shirtless and lovely state. When they went back to their cave to prepare a dinner of fried fish served with a mango and lime salsa, Warlock was no match against a day of adventure and a full stomach; he ended up passing out on top of Dog almost immediately after eating.

Crowley insisted on cleaning up despite Aziraphale’s protests, saying his leg needed rest. While he was outside the cave washing their utensils, Aziraphale brought the journal back out and resumed where he left off.

The next several pages were filled with detailed sketches of several plants, labeled by name and descriptions of their appearance and properties. Crowley was incredible with plants, Aziraphale remembered; it seemed like there weren't any on the island he was unfamiliar with. He mused that perhaps this was a skill he learned from his mother. He read on:

_September 10th, 1981_

_I know it isn’t work related, but I’m just too excited to forget today! Anthony said his first words. Truth be told, since he is 2 and hasn’t spoken a single word yet, I was afraid he may have been delayed. But one of the mothers here said it was because he was learning their language and English at the same time._

_His first words were “Why mummy?” Because of course they would be!_

As he read, a whole new perspective of Crowley’s past was opened up to him. The journal was thick, and filled out from cover to cover. 

He learned that Lilith Crowley joined _Doctors Without Borders_ after leaving her violent husband, Lucifer. The organization distributed doctors in places with the most dire need, and she came here and as the only doctor on the entire island. From what Aziraphale could tell, Lilith was incredibly gifted at what she did. There were several entries dedicated to patient symptoms and detailed treatment plans of various maladies. She was also a talented artist, her depictions of plant life were exact, as well as her fascinating drawings and charts of the human anatomy. 

The village the island was located on was isolated and had limited technology, but it was rich in culture and affection. Aziraphale read Lilith’s account about the two unofficial spiritual leaders of the village, a loving and devoutly Christian couple named Makeda and Awre, who looked after them and the other 30 or so villagers. Lilith lived with them and they became something of surrogate grandparents to Crowley. 

It was also clear from Lilith’s entries that Crowley showed great promise and a natural talent for botany, which he learned from his mother, and a natural astronomer, which he learned from the natives. Lilith proudly wrote how Crowley was able to identify the constellations and as well as the Latin name for most of the flora on the island by the time he was three. He learned that the stars could be used as a map, and also as a way to track the passage of time. She also wrote that shortly after he began speaking, he started to only answer to Crowley, rather than his given first name.

It was obvious that for a few years, life was good, and Lilith was happy. However, it seemed that as soon as Crowley started to speak, all he asked were questions. Lilith confessed her exhaustion about mothering a child by herself in the pages, especially one as curious and as active as Crowley. Perhaps she was too dedicated to her work, sometimes expressing anger at having to be pulled away from it to tend to Crowley's needs. At some points it seemed that she even resented him for taking her away from her research. 

And for such a clever woman, she wrote about things that had Aziraphale cringing at her sheer ignorance.

_April 11th, 1983_

_For not the first time recently, I am afraid that taking Anthony’s from his father was a terrible mistake. Makeda said that the lack of a father figure may be part of Anthony’s...disposition._

_He just...he just doesn’t act like the other boys. He prefers to be by himself making flower crowns and cooking with Makeda. I’ve been trying to encourage him to get into activities such as hunting, but he shows no interest in it._

_But it’s gotten worse as of late. A few weeks ago, I walked in on Anthony playing dress up with Makeda’s jewelry and ceremony gowns. And then, a few days later, we mentioned him taking a wife someday, and he said he didn’t want to marry a girl... he wanted to marry a boy._

_I don’t know what to do; I don’t know how to even act around Anthony these days. I am constantly watching his manners and temperament for slips that hint at his disturbances. Awre has been stepping in recently, suggesting that physical punishment would be the best course of action. I confess I’m not opposed to trying it, I’ll damn near do anything for him to just be..normal._

Aziraphale snapped the book shut, shaking his head in disgust. As he took a deep breath he reminded himself that this was decades in the past, and acceptance towards gay people only started becoming more commonplace in the past ten years or so. 

All the same, there was nothing wrong with Crowley! He sounded like an absolutely lovely boy, full of intelligence and life. Lilith was acting like even the possibility of being gay was a disease. And the fact that she was willing to let other people physically punish Crowley. Crowley, her _child_.. He was almost afraid to read on, worried about reading details about said punishments, but he ultimately couldn’t resist and resumed reading when his breathing evened. 

Punishments, as it turned out included being forced to kneel on grains of rice or small rocks letting them dig into your knees for hours, or having hands pressed against sun heated rocks until they burned. Reading about Crowley being subjected to physical beatings and public humiliations at such a young age had Aziraphale soon shutting the book with far more force than necessary. Crowley seemed to be only three or four, barely a toddler and imagining a little Crowley not much older than Warlock, confused and unsure why he was even being punished made his throat feel like it was closing up.

He stopped reading for the evening, determined to pretend as if everything was fine. He was a truly terrible actor however, and Crowley was soon noticing his subdued behavior. Eventually Aziraphale could only hang his head in resignation when Crowley ordered Dog to guard Warlock while he napped and asked Aziraphale to walk with him.

They didn’t go far, Aziraphale limped with Crowley until they were out of eyesight of the cave, and gratefully accepted when Crowley offered to rest on a grassy knoll. 

They sat together in silence for a while, sides pressed together, unwilling to part despite the heat. He couldn’t say how long they sat together before Crowley broke the silence. 

“You read mum’s book?”

Aziraphale looked up, momentarily shocked speechless. “Wha?- I-I” He paused to take a breath and gather himself. “You knew?”

At Crowley’s nod, Aziraphale felt himself flush with shame; “I’m so sorry Crowley, it was none of my business, I had no right-” 

“It’s ok,” Crowley interrupted gently. When Aziraphale looked at him he couldn’t see any anger in Crowley’s eyes. “Did you finish it?”

Aziraphale shook his head; “I’ve only read the first few entries.”

“She wrote in it until she died.” Crowley murmured, “Always wanted to read it, find out what happened to her.”

“Oh Crowley… you don’t know what happened to her?”

“Sickness,” he supplied softly, his voice sad; “Happened so fast, got worse so quickly.. I couldn’t help her, I couldn’t help _anyone_.” His voice broke and Aziraphale could feel his heart break along with it.

He looked up at Aziraphale imploringly. “Will you read the rest to me Aziraphale? Please?”

Part of Aziraphale wanted to say no, knowing that he would be reading her final entries frightened him, and he was worried she would make more remarks about Crowley that he was never meant to hear when she wrote it. 

But he knew he couldn’t deny Crowley answers, truthfully he didn’t think he was capable of denying Crowley or Warlock anything. He was also dreadfully curious as well, knowing that the book held answers to the questions he had since he first ended up in Crowley’s cave. 

“Ok dearest” Aziraphale placed his hand over Crowley’s, a thrill running through him when Crowley turned his palm up and laced their fingers together. “We’ll read it together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if there was any glaring or unforgiving errors, or I'd love to just know what you think!! ❤
> 
> I can't promise a regular update schedule, but I can say it won't be another long wait like that. I've taken up writing as a way to de-stress from my job, and when I get fired from that, I can post even more! (ಥ﹏ಥ)
> 
> Next chapter we find out how Crowley ended up alone!
> 
> I hope you are all doing ok during these crazy times, please drink water and stay safe my dears!

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to know what you think! Is the chapter too long? Does the pacing drag in some spots? Any glaring, unforgivable errors?
> 
> I adore any and every kudos and comment! It's so nourishing for my soul <3
> 
> Drink plenty of water and stay safe my dears!


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